


These Promises, I'll Keep

by SammysGirl666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark!Dean, Jealousy, M/M, Unrelated!AU, Violence, prostitute!sam, unrelated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SammysGirl666/pseuds/SammysGirl666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is off limits, but that doesn't stop Dean from falling for the boy. That doesn't stop Dean from taking what is his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Promises, I'll Keep

“ _When love is for the highest bidder, there can be no trust. Without trust, there is no love! Jealousy! Yes, jealousy…will drive you MAD!" -El Tango-Roxanne (Moulin Rouge)_

It’s the same question every time they part ways. When the timer runs out for the night and the   decedent rose-colored glasses come off, the same words slip past Dean’s lips and they’re met with the same answer every time. Sam smiles at him, this indulgent smile that’s just the teeniest bit condescending.

“When will I get to see you again?” It’s a motto, a mantra of their one night stands that echoes itself again and again in the wake of their time together.

That smile appears on Sam’s face and the taller man shrugs his shoulder ineloquently.

“When you get the money,” and the cycle continues. It’s the same response, or something like it, every time. Sam finishes putting on his scant clothing and then he presses one parting kiss to Dean’s cheek before slipping out the door to go back to prowling the streets.

“Will you fuck anyone else tonight?” Dean asks, chasing Sam to the door before he can get out of it. Sam turns his eyes to Dean, eyes narrowing. His lips purse and then slip into a teasing smirk.

“Probably.”

Then he’s gone and Dean’s left alone, standing in his boxers in the middle of his apartment, wondering when he let himself fall for someone so completely off limits. And then he’s left with an empty bed and rampant thoughts. Images of Sam being fucked by other guys, and liking it, haunt his waking dreams. He tries to shake it off because Sam never made him any promises. He tries not to let it get to him because Sam doesn’t owe him anything.

But the jealousy is there, curdling in his stomach like rotten milk, filling his lungs like acrid smoke. That green monster, envy, nips and nudges at his heart until he can no longer bear it. He sits up in bed and makes a hasty decision. He grabs the knife from under his pillow and gets out from under the covers. He dresses quickly and quietly before leaving the apartment.

On the street, the hookers prowl.

Girls in too-short skirts and too-tight tube tops walk up and down the sidewalk. Guys in tight low-rider jeans are bent over, heads in the open window of some vehicle, chatting up their clients. There are catcalls and jeers up and down the block as night life takes over the last remnants of early evening. The neon switches on and the clothes start coming off and the city is plunged into darkness.

He knows Sam’s route backward and forward. He’s followed the taller man up and down these same streets enough times to do the route himself. He’s luck, actually, that his clothes set him apart from the whores. There isn’t any time he can waste on shaking off any wayward flirtations.

Dean follows the street he’s on up to the corner, crossing the street and continuing on. A few women try to make passes at him but he ignores them.

The jealousy turns to rage as more images flash through his mind of Sam and other men. He can see it so clearly. He can see Sam’s head tilting into a stranger’s hands. He can picture those brown locks between fingers that aren’t his. He can hear those moans and whimpers that, at one time, seemed so sacred, given to someone else for the right price. All of these things flash in and out of his head until he’s indignant with it.

Sam’s never made him any promises, but isn’t love a promise? Aren’t the stack of bills in Dean’ sock drawer that Sam’s never taken, enough of a promise? Yet, Sam still goes out and walks the streets and Dean can’t wrap his head around it. Logically, he knows that he has no claim on Sam. There is nothing of the boy that is his besides their stolen hours together in bed.

And the progression had been so gradual.

“300 for the night, 5 for a stay-over.”

Dean had never whipped his wallet out so fast in his life.

“You’re a good lay. 200 for the night, 4 for a stay-over.”

The bills left little tiny paper cuts on Dean’s heart as he handed them over.

“Dean, baby, you just keep comin’ back. 50 for the night, 100 for a stay-over.”

Reflexively, now, thoughtless as the green paper gets shoved into Sam’s back pocket.

“Money’s on the table, Sammy.”

He woke up the next morning to see the traitorous cash still laying there, untouched. Of course, Sam plays the game, tells Dean that he needs to pay. And if Dean ever forgot to leave the money on the table, the game would be over. Sam would leave and never come back. If he doesn’t play along, then it’s real. What’s happening between them becomes real; and that’s dangerous, for both of them.

Sam is still a prostitute. Dean is still a client. But Dean’s never been good at sharing what he’s come to think of as his. He’s had enough. He’s had enough of watching Sam leave. He wants what is his and that’s Sam.

So he cuts another corner and sees Sam in the distance. The boy is being pressed up against the wall by some guy. His legs are hooked around the man’s waist and he’s got his mouth pressed against the guy’s ear. His words are obviously working but his eyes are dead, sightless as the guy undoes the button of his jeans.

Dean sees red, blinded by the absolute rage in his blood. He doesn’t think, doesn’t consider anything aside from getting those hands off of what’s his. He runs forward, catches Sam’s eye for only a second before he’s driving the knife in his hands between the shoulder blades of the guy in Sam’s arms. Sam doesn’t react. He doesn’t jump back in fright. The guy chokes off a scream, falling to the floor.

Blood coats Dean’s hands and drips onto Sam’s exposed stomach. Dean growls, kicking aside the dead body at his feet before he lunges forward and licks the blood from Sam’s stomach, looking up through his lashes at the kid. Sam grins, head falling back, hands finding Dean’s hair. Dean stands up straight, nosing at Sam’s neck, and putting his hands firmly on the boy’s hips.

“Mine,” he growls. Sam doesn’t respond, just hops up and wraps his legs around Dean’s waist. Dean pulls back to look at the boy. His eyes are alight and joyful. He can’t seem to stop smiling as he pulls Dean impossibly close.

“No,” Dean shouts, pushing the boy harder against the wall. “No more games, Sammy. You’re mine or…” he lifts the blade to Sam’s neck, “you’re no one’s.”

“Well I don’t have much of a choice then, do I?” But he’s smiling, his hips are gyrating and he seems completely unperturbed by the knife against his neck. Sam grabs the hand holding the knife, and pulls it to his lips, kissing it. Dean gets it, then. There was never anyone else. Sam’s just been waiting. All those bills in Dean’s drawer, another silent, “whenever you’re ready.”

Dean brings the knife down, cutting a hole in Sam’s jeans and briefs, right where his pretty little hole is. He shoves his fingers inside, finding the boy still loose from their earlier encounter. He doesn’t waste any time. He drops the knife, undoes the button and zip of his jeans and plunges forward, to the hilt getting lost in Sam’s hot body. They move against each other, fast and hard and desperate.

Dean has time to make it up to him, now. Sam’s coming home with him after this and Dean will tie him to the bed if he needs to, to make sure he stays put. They can be gentle later. They have forever to work things out. He bites into Sam’s neck as he comes and continues to pump his hips until Sam cries out and a wet spot forms on the front of his ruined jeans. Before they can catch their breaths, Dean pulls away, taking his jacket off and tying it around Sam’s waist to hide the new hole in his jeans.

“C’mon,” Dean grunts, dragging the sexed-out boy behind him. The walk seems shorter this time and they pass the other hookers without incident. When they get to his apartment, Dean gets them up the stairs as quickly as possible. Once inside, Dean feels safe. He helps Sam to the bed and the boy pulls him down too, so that they’re holding each other.

“You killed a man,” Sam whispers, voice casual.

“I’d kill a hundred men for you,” Dean states firmly, pressing a kiss into the boy’s skin like a reassurance.

“What if they catch you?”

“People die in the city every day. Whoever he was, he won’t be missed. And if they do catch me, we’ll run, you and me. We’ll go anywhere you want.”

Sam smiles, and curls tighter into Dean’s embrace.

“Will you take me to Paris, Dean? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Yeah, baby, of course I will.”

It’s a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at samforgiven.tumblr.com. I fill prompts there and you can read some of my other little ficlets if you liked this one.


End file.
